


Sugar Plum Fall-Out

by MemoryCrow



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A little smutty, Alternate Universe, Drabble Sequence, Fluff, M/M, Odd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 02:38:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9414311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemoryCrow/pseuds/MemoryCrow
Summary: Just some little bits of sometimes smutty fluff that fell out of Sugar Plum and Blood Musk... wherein Dr. Whale and Jefferson become vampires and, you know, find love. Like you do...





	1. Things That Matter

 

 

Whale said, “The Cure. Radiohead. The Veils. White Stripes?”

 

 Jefferson looked blank. He shrugged. “The Cure is ‘Friday I’m In Love’. Right?”

 

There was a calm negating of horror taking place on Whale’s face. Distaste. A bit of white showed all around pale, blue irises. “Brother, we need to get you educated. What do you listen to?”

 

Jefferson gave another shrug. Considering, he said, “I like Pink Floyd. The Rolling Stones are good.”

 

The dawning expression of horror eased up. There was a sigh of relief. An unclenching. “Okay. We can work with that.” Whale said. “That’s decent. Good stuff.”

 

“Decent? _You_ have a concern for decency? Morality born of music?”

 

“Well… for a minute there, it was like I’d made a commitment to a woman who turned out to be addicted to The Kardashians.”

 

Jefferson stared.

 

“There’s some shit you just can’t live with.”

 

“Clearly.” Jefferson’s voice was dry. “What is this commitment, and when did I become a woman?”

 

“Oh, don’t be like that.”

 

Jefferson, not uninsightful, caught onto a whiff of snobbery coming off Whale. A clue, perhaps, to his bachelorhood and reputation as not entirely reliable amongst the ladies. He smiled. “I kind of like Whitesnake.” He said.

 

“You jest.”

 

He did, but he said, “Mm. No. Don’t you?”

 

"Is it the predictable guitars, the banal lyrics or the hair that attracts you?”

 

“… And Brittney Spears is alright.”

 

Whale’s hand rose to his heart. Long fingers massaged there. He looked at Jefferson, sidelong. Bird-like.

 

“Are you fucking with me?”

 

“Oh, don’t be like that.”

 

There was a pause, a mutual regard. Then Jefferson sang, “ _All of the boys and all the girls are begging to if-you-seek-Amy_.” Weird, in a soft baritone.

 

Looking heavenward, Whale muttered, “Oh… my stars and garters.”

 

“Right? It’s catchy. Hooky. Clever play with the ‘if you seek’. “

 

“I am never touching your cock again.”

 

It was Jefferson’s turn… His hand rose, finding the place on his chest where he felt bruised. His hand rested over his heart, pressing there. After an initial moment of dismay, he said, “Well… okay. I guess I understand. But… you’ll still suck it… Right?”

 

“Brother, you’re trippin’.”

 

Jefferson moved close. He nuzzled to Whale’s neck. Hands moving up Whale’s arms, he kissed up a well-made jaw. Prim, Whale turned his head away.

 

“I don’t want your pouty lips on me.”

 

“Do too.” Jefferson murmured.

 

“I really don’t. They’re _befouled_. _Whitesnake_? Why not Guns ‘n Roses? If you start singing ‘Every Rose Has Its Thorn’, I’m beating the crap out of you.”

 

Jefferson huffed through his nose. He had snobbish ways of his own. At Whale’s ear, he said, “Victor. Guess what?”

 

“No. I’m too disturbed.”

 

“Big baby. How about… _Iggy Pop_?” He made his voice seductive. His lips touched to velvety, shell-like lobe. “Lou Reed. The Velvet Underground.”

 

Whale moaned aloud. He lifted his chin, allowing Jefferson to kiss along his jaw…. To mouth vulnerable parts of his neck.

 

“ _Now_ are you fucking with me?”

 

Jefferson bit lightly, no fangs. “Blondie. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.”

 

Whale embraced him. He nuzzled back. “You rotten, little shit.”

 

Smiling, Jefferson nose-huffed again. “P. J. Harvey. Heather Nova. Placebo.”

 

“God. You’re so _dirty_.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. Keep going.”

 

They traded small kisses, Whale beginning to undo Jefferson’s clothing. It was like gift wrap… layers of old fashioned prints and patterns over layers of black. Between kisses, Jefferson said, “Leonard Cohen. David Bowie. Um… Love and Rockets?”

 

“I'm _so_ turned on.”

 

“Mm. I don’t really know the newer ones, I guess.”

 

“S’okay. I have libraries. I’ll teach you.”

 

“Well. Thank heavens. I hope you’ll see to it that I move in all the right circles. I’d hate to faux paus with the wrong band.”

 

“Oh, shut up. You were doing so well.”

 

“Elitist.”

 

Hand palmed to Jefferson’s crotch, Whale said, “You love it.”

 

… And Jefferson kind of did. It could be seriously irksome, Whale’s tendency to judge people based on the music they listened to, the books they did or didn’t read; even their reactions to movies. Sometimes Jefferson, feeling as if he was trying - with little success – to impart wisdom unto a child, patiently explained that these things didn’t really matter. They were surface things, like the way people dressed. To which Whale was also attuned and influenced by.

 

Jefferson could explain it to Grace, and she would understand, effortlessly. It was a beautiful thing. She understood someone’s actions revealing inner workings, and that a person could be worthy even if he listened to top 40 pop.

 

Whale, however, was not convinced.

 

He listened to such arguments, considering them as hypotheses, brow concerned. There was a moment when it seemed there might be a breakthrough…. Maybe he got it. Maybe he could see how his inglorious past of sleeping with women and then rejecting them, out of hand, because they made breakfast while singing, ‘Single Ladies’ or ‘Call Me, Maybe’ was immature… his judgment of them premature, not taking stock of the woman as a whole.

 

But always, just as it seemed they’d reached a point of – ah-ha! – Whale bodily flinched. He flung his arms out, as if physically repelling the theories. He fully rejected the notion that Good People might read Danielle Steele. He expressed visceral disgust, as if he tasted it, and it was foul. Aggrieved, he would declare, “ _No_!"

 

“Maybe they’re good,” he would eventually allow. “But are they interesting?”

 

Ah, the snobbery. The developmental delay. Worse, Whale was right about Jefferson… he loved it. The rants, the self-centered diatribes. A habit of speaking to Jefferson in a monologue, as if reporting for Rolling Stone rather than having a conversation.

 

Sometimes Jefferson could place both hands around Whale’s neck and engage in a gleeful strangle. But, yes. He loved it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

… Then it hit him, and Jefferson’s eyes grew large and surprised with understanding and mayhem. Larger.

 

Whale took a step back. “What?”

 

It was a little, rather cheerful synthesizer tune that Jefferson hummed, and, for a moment, Whale looked puzzled. Jefferson looked as though he held a canary captive in his mouth, humming lips smug. Then Whale placed the tune, and said, “Don’t…. you dare….. “

 

A growl emerged from Jefferson, deep and throaty, and one forefinger sprang aloft. “I don’t believe it!” he shouted. “There he goes again! He’s tidied up and I can’t _find_ anything!”

 

“For crying – “

 

“All my tubes and wires and careful notes…” Making his voice absurdly baritone, Jefferson sang, “ _And antiquated notions_ …”

 

“I’m beginning to form a clearer picture as to why you’ve been without a woman in your life.”

 

“ _Good heavens, Dr. Whale… you’re beautiful_!”

 

Whale took a lunging grab at Jefferson, but missed. Jefferson was on the run. He vaulted the couch, a feat of dancer's grace. He sang, at top volume, “He blinded me with science… He blinded – _me!_ – with _science_!”

 

In pursuit, unable to disguise a smile and the rising nature of his cold blood, Whale said, “Oh, you think you’re so clever.”

 

“I am, actually. I mean… you’re a _mad scientist_. Plus, the song is a nice compromise to your snottiness and to Pop. Don’t you think?”

 

“Snottiness?” They stalked one another around a kitchen island, an endless merry-go-round during which neither got any closer.

 

Jefferson sang, “When he’s dancing next to me…”

 

Whale raised his brow in worried doubt.

 

Jefferson made a break for it. He dashed to the coffee table, actually a very sturdy, wooden chest, and jumped onto its surface.

 

“Hey, man. We _live_ here.”

 

Hands behind his head, voice again dropped low, Jefferson engaged in a little pelvic thrust. He roared, “ _I can hear machinery!”_

 

Catching him at last, Whale pulled him to the floor. Wrestling ensued, Jefferson laughing all the while and declaring, “All roads lead to the floor!” Switching gears, he sang, “Don’t do me like that…”

 

“You’re full of lyrical wisdom, aren’t you, brother?”

 

Smiling, Jefferson muttered, “Mad… he’s mad, I tell you.” His eyes went a little off. “ _He’s going to lose his head for painting the roses RED not blue not green not aquamarine he’s painting the roses RED_.”

 

“Easy, brother.” Whale said, softly. He stroked Jefferson’s hair. Jefferson came back, a little more fangy but a little less crazy.

 

“You okay?” Whale asked.

 

Nodding, Jefferson quietly sang, “… That what you fear the most could meet you halfway…”

 

“Oh…” Whale kissed his cheek. “That’s a good one.”

 

 

 

 


	2. Overlap

The girls, for they didn’t yet seem women - in spite of martinis the size of breasts - were very alike. They didn’t  look alike, though they were of a similar height and trim-yet-pearish shape. A redhead with dark-framed glasses, her hair held back in tortoise shell barrettes. It made her seem all the more youthful to Jefferson… he was certain Grace had barrettes like that. The other one was brunette, no glasses, hair in a surprising throw-back to a 1970s, Farrah look.

… But… they moved in the same ways, with a honing instinct of identical twins. They said the same things. Their statements were sing-song, a rising note at the end, as if asking a question. They tiptoed on Jefferson’s nerves, both wearing high-heeled, strappy and crystal embellished sandals. He was dismayed to see that Whale was in praying mantis mode… He hovered over the girls as they chattered, as they made big eyes and checked their phones with the regularity of taking a breath. He smiled, and from his height he inclined in a slight bow. All of Whale’s ironic statements and dry humor was lost in the lilt of their voices…. Unless one of them looked briefly puzzled, then sang, “Oh! You’re so _funny_?”

Repeatedly they sang. “Oh! That’s so _awesome_?” “I love it _so much_?” They took pictures of things with their phones, singing those phrases, often in tandem. One said she saw David Nolan shoot a deer, and she was so upset? But he’d told her he’d had to do it, because the deer wasn’t right? It could affect the genes of the other deer?

The brunette sang, “I don’t understand what you mean? Like, retarded deer?”

“I dunno? I guess?”

“Oh my God, you’re freaking me out so much right now?”

“I know, right? It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“I mean, I don’t mean to judge? Like, David’s s _o awesome_?”

“Right? I love him _so much_?”

There seemed to be no end in sight. Even Whale had pulled somewhat back, a sleepy-becoming-startled look emerging through his hunter’s glaze of bloodlust. Jefferson smelled the blood… these girls were in sync in every way, down to the bleeding. Still… was it worth it? Surely they would sing whatever nefarious discoveries they made to the world… perhaps there would be documentation via phone. _We're freaking out so much right now_?

In an aside to Whale, Jefferson murmured, “We can’t pick up these girls.”

“Why not?”

Jesus. Thinking with his fangs. Whale was all tooth.

“Because, for one, they’re too young. But also… I’m pretty sure they’re Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee. They just look different… over here.”

Whale gave him a look of utter… blank. Then he shook his head. “Pull it together, brother. Not everything is about that place.”

Uncertain, looking in deep suspicion at the girls; enthusiastic about _everything_ , moving as one, speaking in song; Jefferson said, “But a _lot_ is. Right?”


	3. Wild Thing

Storybrooke was such a small town, and Enchanted Forest folk were, by nature, insular. Things were noticed. Word of the night of kissing at The Rabbit Hole had gotten out. People talked, and Jefferson sometimes felt the weight of their eyes on him, a newish feeling. He had not really been on their radar, save for Regina. Maybe Emma, for a second, there.

At first, since Whale didn’t seem all that concerned about it, not overly worried about his job, Jefferson didn’t fret. The stares made him uncomfortable, but he’d long ago given up being worried with what others thought of him. Anyway… better they contemplate bisexuality than… vampirism.

But then… it hit him. What if Grace picked up on it? What if it was a rumor at her school… what if she was taunted for having the daddy who was out in the dead of night, kissing Dr. Whale?

It freaked him out, badly; and the knowledge that he could do nothing to stop such talk freaked him out even more. It was out there, beyond his control. She would hear it, or she wouldn’t.

Should he talk to her? What would he say? He barely understood himself, anymore… How could he make her understand?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Oh, for the love of God.” Whale rolled his eyes, annoyed and maybe a little bored. “Will you stop moping and fretting? If it’s an issue, just bring little Grace over and make introductions. You can call me your ‘very special friend’.”

Jefferson stopped moping long enough to look aghast and appalled. Then he slid further down the couch, feet braced on the coffee table and more or less holding him in place. He moped, sullen. He chewed on his bottom lip, then his tongue worried at a fang. He fretted.

“But _aren’t_ I your very special friend?” Whale smiled. Big. He poked Jefferson’s arm with a forefinger. When Jefferson only gave an open-mouthed snarl, crazy looking while tongue puzzled over tooth, Whale poked him in the ribs.

“Stop poking me.”

“Make me.”

Jefferson glared. Had he fur, it would have stood on end. Whale said, “Oh-oh… _Uh-_ oh…” He waved his hand about Jefferson’s chest, making lobster-like pinchers of his fingers. He aimed for a nipple. Jefferson smacked his hand away, hard. He was annoyed with this hyperactive, hyper-blonde person. Laughing, Whale came back for more. He poked and waved his hands about in something of a dance. He darted in and pinched.

Jefferson’s glare turned into a Billy Idol lip curl, and he launched himself at Whale. First on the couch, then in a clattering, messy, kicking fall to the floor. He wrestled, throwing his weight around and getting in some elbow jabs and sort-of punches. Hard smacks. Whale couldn’t stop laughing, eyes merry, cheeks flushed. The heat of blood infected Jefferson.

“Not the 'nads!” Whale yelled, smiling despite Jefferson’s wayward knee, twisting at the hip.

Eventually, Jefferson was pinned. A maniacally grinning Whale sat heavily on his hips, pinning one arm over his head. He held Jefferson’s other wrist, and cheerfully made him slap his own face.

“What the hell, Jefferson? Why would you do this to yourself, brother?”

Jefferson tried, but was never quite able to escape his own hand. “You know I’ll get out of this. When I do, I’m killing you to death.”

“Big words for a man who can’t stop slapping himself. Is it some sort of disorder? Like Tourettes? Do we need to consult the DSM-V?”

Jefferson bucked his hips, and Whale said, “Ooh, baby!” His whole body bucked, nearly succeeding in knocking Whale off… the guy was like a tick. He held on, whooping and laughing. “Wild thing!” he beamed. “You make my heart _sing_.”

“Get the fuck off me, you platinum lunatic.”

“Man… you make everything… _groovy_.”

Jefferson got one arm free and took a wild swing. Whale ducked it, recaptured Jefferson’s wrist and pinned both arms over Jefferson’s head. At least he was no longer slapping himself.

Bending low, Whale murmured, “Wild thing…. I think I love you.”

…. _Damn it_.


	4. The Internet is for Porn

 

 

“… Still _whining_ , Louis?”

“You _would_ choose to be bloody Lestat.”

Whale plopped down beside Jefferson on the couch. “Of course I would. And you’re the soulfully pretty vampire with a wretched conscience. But… good news, my fine fellow. We haven’t killed anyone. Our current code of conduct is actually something of an improvement from when we were human.”

In spite of himself, Jefferson snorted a laugh.

“Holy hell. What _was_ that? Was that a smile?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You’re so foul when you’re broody. I hardly ever hear you swear. It’s very exciting.”

Jefferson heaved a sigh. Whale slapped a hand down on his thigh and gave a sigh of his own. “Okay. Come on, son. Lay it on me… talk it out.”

Jefferson looked to be sure Whale meant it… that he wasn’t about to tune out, or throw them both to the floor again. It seemed safe.

“If she asks,” he said, seeing Grace so clearly in his mind’s eye, “I have to tell her _something_. Do I… do I even bring up sex? Sexuality? Because, honestly Victor, I wouldn’t know where to begin with all that.”

“All that?”

“All… you know. Us. What we do. The whole gay-straight-bisexual conundrum.”

Whale smiled, looking interested. “It’s a conundrum, is it?”

“Well… yes. Isn’t it? I mean, I don’t have any idea what I am. Bisexual… I guess. But it’s all so different since…”

“Getting bit?”

Jefferson nodded. The blood-need, bloodlust… it affected the workings of sex. Preference, if such things still existed.

 

“Okay.” Whale got up. He retrieved his laptop and returned to the couch. “Let’s try an experiment.”

“Like… with corpses and electricity?”

Whale inclined his head. “Right on, brother. Or in this case, with pornography. There’s no lack of it, my friend. We live in a blessed age of abundance. So…. Here. What do you think of this?”

Turning the screen to Jefferson, he presented an image of a naked woman. Well, she wore lacy thigh-highs and heels. She wore too much make-up and smiled invitingly. Her hair was… too big. She seemed very glossy, varnished to Jefferson. Like so many images, she had only a mere suggestion of pubic hair.

Jefferson shrugged.

“So, you’re blasé on the naked chick?”

“I mean, she’s hot…. Nice body and all. Naked’s always good. She’s just not really my type.”

“This isn’t LonelyVampires.com, Jefferson. The entity being polled is your dick. Stirrings? Comments? Concerns?”

“Yes, I’m highly concerned.”

Whale shook his head and did another search. When he turned the screen back to Jefferson, there was a black and white gif of a man and woman, deep in the throes of sex. Man on top… the pelvic thrust and the arc of the woman’s neck and back repeated, over and over.

Jefferson shifted a bit in his seat, and Whale grinned. “I sense a disturbance in the Force.”

“Yes.” Jefferson confirmed. “I’m disturbed.”

“So, okay. You like naked women, take or leave those who are not your type. Heterosexual sex turns you on. Although…” he eyed Jefferson with suspicion, “Are you looking at this and thinking of fucking a woman, or are you staring at the dude’s ass… the ball bounce _a la_ thrust? To say nothing of parry.”

Blushing, Jefferson looked at his unruly lap. “Both.” He admitted.

“ _Duly_ noted.” Whale said, with what sounded like a great deal of self-interest. “Let’s get more specific.”

He presented Jefferson with a spread-eagled woman who penetrated her pussy with her middle finger. It was a big, crisp and clear, color photo, smooth or goose-bumped flesh revealed in detail, almost touchable; a ghosting of stubble and a wet shine leaking from beneath her manicured fingers. The largeness and immediacy of the image took Jefferson by surprise, even in the knowledge of the sort of tour Whale was taking. His blood rushed and made him dizzy. His spine set up a sudden buzzing, skull to tailbone.

“How ‘bout it, brother? You can’t see her face, so ‘type’ shouldn’t be an issue.”

Voice croaking, throat dry, Jefferson said, “Yeah. I like it.”

“ _Yahtzee_. Dick hard?”

“Yeah.”

“So then, we know you like pussy. Definite hetero leanings in the nether region.”

“What about you, Victor?”

“Brother, I’ve had a raging boner since this conversation _began_. But, yeah. This sort of shot does it for me. I don’t know if I want to lick, fuck… or just watch her do herself. Very hot.”

“But… so, isn’t that confusing, though? Considering you’ve launched a campaign on my ass?”

Meeting Jefferson’s eyes, fist propping up chin, Whale said, “Yeah…. How’s that going, by the way? Are you feeling swayed by our candidate?”

“Focus.”

"Oh… Fine. Let’s switch gears, then. How about this?”

The trance inducing close-up of pussy was abruptly replaced by two very burly, almost chubby naked men with unbelievably thick thighs and dicks like young donkeys. They grinned at the camera with jolly conviction, arms around each other.

“ _Gah_!” Jefferson recoiled, blocking the view with his hand, Whale chuckled.

“Not your type, I’m guessing?”

“Jesus. Warn a guy. Although… how are their dicks so _big_?”

“Hell if I know. Let’s say ‘Photoshop’.”

“And why are they so _happy_?”

“Maybe they’re thinking about the magic of Photoshop. What about this?”

The muscle-bound, yet oddly doughy men disappeared, to be replaced by a pretty, modelish man, naked and attractive, though not obviously aroused.

Jefferson gave another shrug. “He doesn’t freak me out, but I… don’t really have a reaction.”

“No yearnings, my sweet? Of the sort that daren’t be named?”

With an eye-roll, Jefferson said, “No. No yearnings. How long are we playing this game, Victor?”

“Oh, come on. It’s fun.”

“I’m feeling wired and fucked with.”

“That just means it’s working. Not to fret… it’s all for science.”

He showed Jefferson the screen, and the image therein affected him at once. He gasped, and Whale was immediately interested. “Mm. Like that, do you?”

Vision gone a little swimmy, Jefferson nodded. His chest had erupted into pins and needles, and his cock was an insistent, throbbing dig at his thigh. The throb made a sneaky maneuver into his balls.

The image was all darkness and warm, flesh tones. Two men, poetically attractive, yet not model attractive. It was a close-up of their upper bodies, shoulders-up. One had his mouth open at the neck of the other, eyes slitted, tongue emerging, teeth barely visible. The other was blissed out…. Eyes closed and pooled with shadows, mouth open…. The fingers of one on the face of the other, just beginning to curl into an open and hungering mouth.

Jefferson’s breath went shallow, and Whale breathed, “God… you’re such a sensualist…. Your _mouth_. If you could _see_ how flushed and full your lips got.”

Jefferson could feel it… the fullness, the heat. The ache. His eyes moved up from the screen, and he felt startled by Whale’s face, eyes darkened, staring at him.

“It’s the recognition.” Whale said. “You _feel_ this. And it’s different now, since we changed.”

“Yeah.”

“You like it, don’t you? When I do those things to you.”

Jefferson thought he might cry, desire was suddenly such a live thing within him, and yet _slow,_ molasses slow… weighty and burdensome. It was heavy in his body.

“This hasn’t made anything more clear.” He said. It hurt to breathe.

Whale set the laptop aside. He moved close.

“Maybe it has.” He disagreed. He traced a finger over Jefferson’s jaw, and Jefferson’s eyelashes fluttered closed, heat engulfing his face.

“It’s clear you overthink things. It’s clear you’re a little flexible in regards to sexuality.” Whale pressed a soft kiss to Jefferson’s cheek, purring. “It’s clear you’re highly neurotic and fussy about your choice of partner, and yet you like _me_.” He grinned. “You like the way I make you feel.”

“Oh… good for me.”

Whale brushed his lips to Jefferson’s, his hand moving into a loose hold on his neck. Thumb caressed scar. “Tell me what you want.” He whispered, looking at the devastation and desire that was Jefferson’s face. Jefferson couldn’t answer… he didn’t know what he wanted… _more._ His throat made a small whimper.

“I think you like it when I control you.” Whale hypothesized, voice quiet and eyes in deep study. “I think you like your neck grabbed, your wrists held. You like to be _bit_.”

Jefferson felt like he was being pulled under… a rip-tide current. In seconds flat, he would be lost under dark waves, far out at sea. He made himself turn his head away from Whale, from the wall of heat that had sprung up between them. “What will I say to Grace?” he fretted.

“You idiot.” Whale murmured. He pushed Jefferson back on the couch, crawling over him. Jefferson wondered if he’d soon be slapping himself again, but Whale seemed more intent on driving his senses mad. Fingertips played at his mouth, moved down to the buttons of his shirt. “She’s too young for all of this.” Whale said. “Just _lie_. If she catches a rumor, just tell her Dr. Whale’s a nice man, but he drinks too much. You had to do CPR when it seemed like there might be a cardiac incident.”

It was strange…. The relief Jefferson felt at being told what to do. Exactly, and with authority. _This is what you_ _do_. _This is how you do it_. He didn’t want to lie to Grace, but neither did he want to paint a new and even more unsettling picture of himself for her. Whale made the act of lying seem so practical and reasonable… Small evil. Could such a thing be excusable when one, after all, was a vampire?

“You couldn’t have said that to me at the start, Victor?”

“And miss out on all of your blushing and wide-eyed looks? You can’t disguise your feelings very well, brother.”

He supposed not. Whale laid his shirt open, caressing warm hands over bared skin. Jefferson reached up to unwrap Whale in a similar manner. Their eyes met, and Jefferson growled, “I’m hungry.”


	5. Rocket in Your Pocket

 

Whale took one look at Jefferson… a sleepy stumble, a rumple of undershirt and white boxers printed with red hearts… a bleariness of dark stubble and a messy, mad-cap, almost pompadour arrangement of hair. A poster boy for something, Whale was sure. But what?

He smiled over his coffee cup, a little long in the fang. He began a jazz-snapping of the fingers of one hand, and sang, “ _Boy, boy… crazy boy… Get cool, boy_.”

Sleep-touched, big eyes looked up, dark blue and heavily fringed in shadowy lashes. Full lips, even more full, more flushed and soft from sleep. He was devastating, really, and Whale felt the impact of it. But he was good at glossing over his feelings… only the slightest widening of his eyes betrayed him.

“Oh….” Jefferson yawned hugely, scratching his ass. “Don’t, Victor.”

“Ah-ah. I believe someone, somewhere once said, ‘turn-about’s fair play, bitch’.”

“Was it _you_?” Jefferson asked, making his way past Whale and to the coffee pot.

“Maybe.” Whale took a casual glance over his shoulder… surprisingly perky, rounded ass… a hilly landscape of red hearts. He sang, “ _Got a rocket in your pocket… keep coolly-cool, boy_ …”

Jefferson groaned.

“…. _Take it slow, and Daddy-O_ …” Oh, God… it put dirty thoughts in his head. He turned to fully see Jefferson, leaning against the kitchen counter with a mug of his own. He eyed Whale. Whale softly sang, “ _Just play it cool, boy. Real cool_.”

“It’s too early to get a rise out of me.” Jefferson mused.

“Then you’re just lazy.” Whale retorted, making an adjustment at his crotch. “It worked just fine on me.”

Jefferson smiled, briefly biting his bottom lip… which caused devilry in Whale. Jefferson’s brow creased, and he asked, “Is _that_ what it means? To get a rise out of someone? Is that where the expression comes from?”

“Yes, Jefferson. In days of yore, our forefathers discovered the necessity of the euphemism when referencing the event of a boner.”

“It’s an event, is it?”

“Believe it, brother.”


End file.
